Winter: Remix
by cynicsquest
Summary: Summary: Belle continues in Storybrooke after exiling Rumpel to the Land Without Magic, and has to deal with the decision she's made. Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin didn't go to Manhattan, but stayed nearby to deal with his own issues. A remix of Winter by OneMagician, and intended as a companion piece.


Winter: Remix

The moon hung low in a clear sky, surrounded by stars that flickered against a velvety black and cast the world outside in an eerie, bluish light. The snow that had been falling for days before had collected in a thick, soundless blanket of white powder. It coated black, barren limbs with crystals that melted when they touched the pulse of the slumbering trees, and then froze into transparent sheaths and icicles. All was quiet, the heaviness of winter absorbing every sound until one could actually _hear_ the silence.

It was cold and dark inside, though she'd built a fire in the hearth early that morning and had fed it periodically through the day. The house had central heat; of course it did, he'd been granted a comfortable life here and his home had every amenity available, but with only her here it seemed so wasteful. Besides, the cold suited her. Belle felt cold inside and as barren as the world that was freezing in the stillness of the endless, white flakes quietly dropping on top of one another, burying every bit of life in the world.

She had learned to live with the stillness and the cold, but they were bitter acquaintances. In fact, they had always been her most consistent companions, both familiar and unwanted. She'd spent half of her life longing for love and adventure, and the other half locked in cells that cut her off from having either. She'd always believed herself to be the mistress of her own fate, had boldly declared that no one decided her fate for her, but the truth was that she'd had very little control over the consequences of her decisions. She loved Rumpelstiltskin, and that had only ever left her with two choices: to go with him, and to return to him. Both choices always seemed to end in disaster.

Belle had kept a vigil by the kitchen window throughout the long night, much as she did every other night since she'd cast her love from her life, from the town, from their world. She hadn't allowed _him_ to choose that night – love or power – she'd made the decision for him, denying him both in one command. She'd held his dagger in an iron grip, ignored his promise to make it up to her, and forced him over the town line. She'd felt justified in doing so at the time – after all, he'd betrayed everyone, her most of all. She'd cut him off from his power for good, saved the town, done the right thing. He was outside, no way for him to get back to shatter her heart the way she had their cup the _last_ time she'd shut him out. And here she was, inside, secluded in a bubble of reality between realms, locked safely within the confines of a sheltered cell with a bit more elbow room than her previous cells had allowed.

Only this time, no one had a key.

It hadn't felt like that at first, when she'd still been angry at her husband. She'd stood at the town line watching Rumpel pick himself up from the ground where he'd fallen, his ankle weakened outside of the magic that had sustained him for centuries. He'd stood in the road, repeating her name in ragged breaths as his face contorted in anguish and regret. Pity for him hadn't been possible in that moment; she'd just stopped him from crushing a man's heart in his hand, a sacrifice to get what he wanted. She'd turned away from him, walking every inch of the way home, clutching the wretched dagger that bore his name, tears blurring her sight.

Leroy had been on her doorstep practically the minute she'd returned, exhausted from her long trek and tears stinging her eyes.

"You did the right thing, sister," he'd grinned, the sour odor of his celebratory beer on his breath.

Leaning heavily on the doorframe, her puffy eyes hurting and her chest tight, she'd given him curt nod. "Not now, Leroy."

"Ah, you're not feeling bad about it, are you?" he asked incredulously. "Stiltskins' been asking for it ever since the Enchanted Forest. You've done everyone a favor, if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not asking you," she snapped angrily. "Just go away."

She had let herself inside and slammed the door behind her, only to collapse in the foyer to sob in misery alone. After an hour, she painfully hauled herself up the stairs to their bedroom, a surge of fresh anger coursing through her as she saw his packed suitcase on their bed. He'd been ready to flee the town his curse had created, shake the dust off his shoes and flex his magic in a new world, free from the tyranny of the _kris_ dagger, his hand still warm with the blood of his old enemy. What he'd hoped to do there was beyond her reckoning, as he'd never discussed it with her.

So, her anger renewed at her husband's audacity, she grabbed the handle of the heavy bag and drug it out of the room to the top of the stairs and kicked it over the edge. She watched in satisfaction as it tumbled down the stairwell, expensive suits and silk shirts and ties spilling out to litter the steps. Shaking, she turned away from the mess she'd deal with on the morrow and returned to the room, slamming the door shut behind her. It was then that she realized that she still gripped the dagger in her hand.

His name was etched deeply into the curved blade, the metal almost gleaming, smugly declaring its ownership of her true love, and she loathed it with all of her heart. While it was true that the one holding the dagger controlled the Dark One, it was also true that they didn't own him – he belonged to the dagger itself, to the curse forged into its metal, and it would never release him as long as he lived. It was his mistress and her rival in every sense of the word. Knowing she could neither destroy it nor bear to look at it, she went to her closet and rummaged around for a few minutes. Selecting a box, she spilled her husband's shoes onto the floor and thrust the hateful dagger inside, then threw it up on a shelf above the clothes rack, turned out the light and shut the door on it.

She spent the next week secluded in their house, refusing to go out among the citizens she'd saved by banishing her husband, lonely and haunted by his lack of presence. Every room held some of his treasures. Things that had occupied places of honor back at the Dark Castle were displayed everywhere. Trophies, they were, symbols of the Dark One's great power, of his cleverness in acquiring every horrible token of tyranny and folly and magic their world knew. Some were small, seemingly harmless items while others were the sources of great legends: the Golden Fleece, Pandora's Box, the Sword of _Arondight__._

A gauntlet that revealed a man's greatest weakness.

Her anger kindled into a new conflagration, she threw herself into shoving every item into boxes and hauling them down to the basement. Next, she raided his workroom, gathering vials of potions and magical ingredients – powders, elixirs and thick pastes; hair, teeth and bones from creatures inhabiting the Realm of Magic; tears, scales and body parts she couldn't identify – all of the vile tools of the sorcerers' trade – and packed them away with the rest. His books had followed, some of them so ancient they flaked when she handled them, and others newer, written into notebooks in his own scrawling hand in weeks past.

These things had been the guiding force of his life for centuries before she'd even been born. She'd been such a fool to believe she meant anything to him. Her life was but a brief moment to her immortal husband, so why would he put his obsession aside for one he'd only have for a few brief years? She knew that he loved her, but she'd grow old and die, and he'd continue on as he had before, her influence going with her to the grave. His dagger would still be there, waiting for him, enticing him to move on, take up the darkness and wreck havoc as the Dark One once more.

On the eighth night of her self-imposed exile, her nerves frayed to the point of breaking and on edge with grief and insomnia, she was standing in the kitchen when she heard a familiar voice calling her name from the basement. Jolted to her core – _his_ was a voice she definitely should _not_ be hearing – she opened the basement door and flicked on the light. Carefully making her way down, her heart lurched when she saw Bae standing beside her weeks' work, an amused grin on his face.

"Leave anything out?" he asked.

Shaking her head no, she cautiously reached out, her hand connecting with his very warm and solid shoulder. "You're not really here, are you?" she asked tremulously.

He didn't answer, just stood there a moment longer while he looked her over, taking in her disheveled appearance. "You look like you need someone to talk to," he observed. "Why don't we go up to the kitchen and make some tea?"

Belle nodded yes and they went up together. She was rather shocked and unbelievably tired, so she seated herself at the table while Bae – who'd never been in her kitchen in his life – set the kettle on for tea and began rummaging around in the cabinet for food while he made small talk with her. She answered his questions about Emma and Henry, biting her lip and reluctant when telling him his former true love was now dating the same pirate who'd run away with his mother, but he just offered her a tight smile and set a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of tea in front of her.

He sat across from her and leaned his elbows on the table. "So, how are you getting along without him?"

Tightness gripped her chest and her eyes stung with tears. "You know about that?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I do."

She took a deep breath and released it, wiping angrily at her eyes. "As well as I can, I suppose." It was difficult to meet Bae's eyes. Though he bore little resemblance to Rumpel, his eyes were the same shape and shade of his father's, and looking into them brought her back to the last moment she'd seen her husband. "He was wrong, Bae; he was wrong and I had to stop him," she said defensively.

He smiled sadly and shook his head in understanding. "You had the dagger. You could have just ordered him to stop."

"Of course I could have, and I did," she countered.

"And then you banished him," he reminded her.

Guilt and anger rose in her. "He crossed a line, Bae! He threatened everyone, including Emma. I stopped him from murdering Killian in cold blood! He had a chance to be a part of this town, to help us all and he chose to act in his own interests instead." She stood up and began pacing back and forth, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her voice rising as she continued. "And he lied to me! He made me believe he'd given me his dagger, but he gave me a fake. A fake! I didn't even want it but he insisted I have it, and then he just pretended that it worked . . ."

"When you used it to control him?" he finished quietly.

She glared at him, her jaw clenched. _How dare he?_ "He lied to me!" she spat. "I'm his wife and he left me in the dark while he manipulated everyone around him. He took Hooks' heart to control him, and then he made him get rid of all of the fairies! He killed them, and he intended to let the Snow Queen's curse kill everyone else; everyone we cared about. He didn't raise a finger to stop any of it!"

Bae didn't argue. He just stood there looking at her with those expressive brown eyes until her heart clinched and she had to turn away.

"Go away, Bae," she ordered hotly. Silence was her only answer, and when she turned back, she was alone.

She felt his absence like a blow, even if he was only her imagination. Painfully, she made her way to the table and sank down into his seat. Releasing a sob, she lay her head down over her arms on the table and gave herself over to a torrent of tears. Besides herself, Bae had been the only other person to know how it felt to love the sorcerer, to see the pain of his struggle between his curse and his better intentions. In the year they had worked together in the Enchanted Forest searching for a way to bring Rumpel back, she and Bae had forged an understanding between them. Bae had known the man before the curse, and Belle had known the man who survived beneath the weight of it. Rumpel's lies had been a betrayal of the vows he'd made to his son at his graveside, and to the vows he'd made to her at their wedding. The banishment had been a judgment that Bae himself would have enacted if his father had threatened their people in his presence, she knew, but she had been stung by his reminder that she could have shown mercy.

She could have, but she hadn't.

The truth was that she'd been hurt and angry that he had wanted power more than he wanted her, that the love they shared wasn't enough to make him happy and that he'd sacrifice countless lives in order to have it. She had suffered for him, been locked away from all she held dear, had fought for him, only to discover that it was meaningless. When all was said and done, nothing she offered him was enough. In the end, fear that he'd leave her in the dust had fueled her anger, and mercy hadn't even entered her mind. Guilt consumed her when she acknowledged to herself that she'd wanted to punish him that night, had wanted to see him as broken and empty as she felt in the moments she'd discovered his deception, and she'd achieved her goal spectacularly.

~*~*~*xXx*~*~*~

As the days passed, so did the anger, leaving raw guilt in its place. Throughout the summer, she worked sporadically, venturing into town only a few times a week to open the pawn shop. She conducted business there and collected rent, putting every penny into their accounts in the hope that he'd access it to support himself. She'd sent him away with absolutely nothing: no money, or transportation or even a cane to lean on, and scanning the bank statement for minute transactions that amounted to little heartened her somewhat that he was eating and sleeping somewhere.

It was a quiet day with no customers when Regina paid a visit to the shop, the bell over the door announcing her arrival.

"Belle," Regina greeted her, the pleasant smile she'd perfected since she'd begun a relationship with Robin Hood on her face.

"Regina," she acknowledged.

The former queen scanned the room for just a moment before sauntering over to the counter Belle stood behind. Irritated by her presence, Belle quickly closed the ledger she'd been absently working on. "Can I help you?"

The former queen looked over the tired lines on the younger woman's face and frowned worriedly. "How are you doing?"

"Well enough," she answered. It was disconcerting the way Regina looked at her, her dark eyes filled with something akin to pity, making her uncomfortable. She certainly hadn't cared for her wellbeing when she held her captive for nearly three decades, nor had she checked on her during the weeks since she'd been alone. No doubt she'd been too busy with the woodsman to keep tabs on her. Taking a deep breath, Belle asked, "Is there something I can do for you, Regina."

Dropping the concerned expression, she slipped easily into her usual demeanor of superiority suffering the necessity of dealing with underlings. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is." She placed her handbag on the glass countertop and began sifting through the contents. "We're working on way to reverse the curse and send us home. Since Snow cast it, it would require her giving up what she loves, and as she's attached to her family, we need to find another option."

"I would think that Emma would be willing to stay in this world."

"Normally, she would," the former queen smirked, "but Henry wants to go to our world and Hook has no skills to speak of for this one, so no one gets left behind this time."

The words clutched at Belle's heart. No one would be left behind except Rumpel. What had Regina said – no skills to speak of for this world? She wondered how he was faring out there, away from his magic, his holdings, his shop. Away from hope and love: away from her.

Regina found what she'd been looking for and withdrew a paper from the depths of her purse, unfolding it as she handed it to the younger woman. "Rumpel knew everything there was to know about the curse that sent us here, and I wondered if he might have left some notes behind. This is a list of some of the books he taught me from years ago, and I thought they might have some answers."

Belle gave the list of cursory glance, recognizing almost all of the titles. "I know some of these; they're at the house. I'll get them for you in a few days." She slipped the list into her pocket, hoping to keep her eyes averted so she wouldn't see the tears forming and threatening to spill over.

Regina wasn't fooled, though. She could see the struggle going on inside of the woman before her, and remembering the bitterness of losing one's love irrevocably, she felt a rare compulsion to offer a bit of comfort. "Hey," she said, drawing Belle's watery gaze, "I know it hurts right now, but you'll get past this; you'll find someone else to love, to share your life with."

Anger welled up in Belle's tiny frame, and she swiped at her eyes to keep her tears in check. "Find someone else?" she scoffed. "My husband isn't dead, Regina, he's gone!"

"Yes, he is," The former queen snapped, "and you've seen to it that he isn't coming back." She softened when she saw the young wife's lip quiver and her face redden as a tear managed to escape and cascade slowly down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she offered, "I shouldn't have said that."

Belle sniffed and reined her emotions in. "It's true, isn't it?" she admitted stiffly. She turned her back as Regina opened her mouth, ready to plunge in with either comfort or more accusations, and Belle knew she couldn't take either right now. "These books are at home. I'll locate them and bring them into the shop on Saturday. Is that soon enough?"

Regina shook her head affirmatively, though Belle's back was to her, the bell on the door ringing to signal her departure as the diminutive shopkeeper took a sudden interest in some small items that had lain on the back counter needing repair. Finding herself alone, she retrieved her purse from under the counter, turned the closed sign to the street and locked the shop, and then retreated up Moncton Avenue and home.

~*~*~*xXx*~*~*~

The summer turned into fall, but she hardly noticed. It was a cool day when her father finally came to call. Maurice had talked to her on the phone a few times, chit-chat really. He never mentioned the rumors he'd heard that ranged from negligible –Gold had left town to start over in the new world without his wife – to the incredulous – Belle had stabbed her husband with his dagger and had taken the dark powers for herself. He'd only asked how she was doing and if she needed anything, and her answer was always the same: she was fine and she'd let him know. Now, as part of the counsel Snow had formed to prepare the people of their realm for the inevitable return to their own world, he wanted to know what was going on with his daughter and heir.

He found her sitting on a small bench nestled in the midst of the garden behind her house, surrounded by fading blooms of pink, coral and red. Petals were falling off the scraggly blossoms to litter the stone walkways along with orange leaves with brown, curling edges. A faint, cool wind stirred the rustling mixture as his feet found their way to the bench where his melancholy daughter waited, looking for all the world like she'd rather be elsewhere.

She glanced up at him with a wane smile as he approached, and he took her small hand in his, giving her fingers a slight squeeze in greeting, and she scooted over a bit to make room for him. The king turned florist complimented her on the roses, impressed that they still bloomed so late in the season, and asked about the varieties and what fertilizers she'd used on them. It was a safe topic, though both realized they'd shifted onto shakier ground when he broached his real reason for coming to see her in the home she'd shared with her husband.

"We're going home, my darling girl," he told her in a bright voice.

She felt the air leave her lungs. She'd known about it, of course; Regina had collected the books she'd requested, even some of Rumpel's notes written in the scrawling print Belle had reverently run her fingers over when she'd found them. The Nolans had been to see her several times, enlisting her help in translating old texts or securing some rare magical element unfound in Regina's stores. They'd been all smiles and sunshine about their prospects, and David had even been decent enough to ask her to give his regards to Rumpel should she hear from him.

Three months and she'd heard nothing.

Silence reined between them as he waited for her to say something, but she sat stark still, her eyes fixed on her hands as they fiddled with the buttons on her sweater. "The Queen believes they've found a loophole in the wording of the curse, something that was overlooked before."

Belle nodded. "I know what you're going to say," she sighed. She knew about the loophole already; she'd been the one to translate that particular text and had explained it implications to them herself. She'd also seen the peculiar look exchanged between Snow, Emma and Regina when she'd told them that the curse didn't rely on the caster to give up someone they loved; the curse actually stated that one under the cursed – _any one_ under the curse – could make that sacrifice and they could return home. She'd seen the wheels turning and knew this conversation was in her future. They'd been wise to choose her father to have it with her.

Maurice took a deep breath, stalling for a moment to find the right words. "Rumpelstiltskin is gone, Belle," he began softly, gauging her response as he unfolded the plan that had been proposed in the council. "He's gone and he isn't coming back."

"Papa, don't!"

"Now hear me out," he pleaded, taking her arm to keep her from standing and walking away from him. "What's done is done. I agreed to your marriage because I wanted you to be happy, but he didn't make you happy! He lied to you, kept you in the dark about his real intentions." His heart broke as she glared at him, hating the truth he laid before her. "His curse was bigger than his love, and what little humanity there was left in him he traded for power."

She couldn't deny his words, and she sobbed, throwing herself against the big man's shoulder, melting into him as he pulled her closer, rubbing her back and rocking her like he had when she'd been a child. She'd consoled her conscience so many times is the past months by rehearsing those same words over and over, until she was raw with the justification of her own actions. Long minutes passed as she cried in her father's arms, pouring out her grief and failure and loneliness through hot tears. He waited until she was spent, offering her a handkerchief from his pocket before he said what he'd come to say.

"Belle, you did a very brave and selfless thing the night you banished The Dark One," he said. "I know it was the hardest thing you've ever done, but it was the _right_ thing to do. I know you love him," he admitted, "but you've always put your people first, and that's what we're asking you to do now."

"But Papa, he's alone!" she whimpered.

"Just as he left his son when he chose the dagger over him the first time," Maurice countered harshly. "Just as he intended _you_ to be if his plans would have gone the way he wanted." He grabbed his daughter's chin gently in his hand when she tried to protest and forced her to look at him. "Belle, what happened to him was the consequences of his own actions, and you're not at fault here." She wasn't sure she felt that was true, but she nodded anyway, wishing he'd get to the point she already knew he was going to make.

"Now, Regina has reviewed the curse and there are still a few things that have to be done to get everything ready. That will take a couple of more months, but it's doable. What the council proposes is that you take advantage of the action you've already taken and make a formal declaration banishing Rumpelstiltskin at the appropriate time. A formal declaration will satisfy the price of magic."

Her mind searched for answers as she looked into the hope etched on her father's face. Dreading to hear what she already knew, she asked nonetheless, "and then what?"

Maurice released the breath he'd been holding and smiled sympathetically. "And then, my dear girl, we all go home. Once we get to Avonlea, you'll be declared a widow and restored as heir to the throne. You'll be hailed as a hero twice over, and we'll rebuild our land."

~*~*~*xXx*~*~*~

She was numb after that. She roamed the lonely stretch of beach in front of her husband's home during the day, and haunted its halls at night. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, she tried calling him, her mouth dry and her heart pounding as she listened to the phone ring over and over in her ear. Finally, a click and a voice – _his_ voice – curtly saying, "Gold. State your business at the tone," but he never answered. She never left a message, not knowing what to say to him now that so much time had passed.

It was winter before Henry came to see her at the pawn shop. His smile was shy and friendly, and his awkwardness set her at ease for the first time in months. The shop was nearly empty now. People had come in to buy back things they had owned in their old world, things that would make going home seem more familiar after decades away. Only a few days remained, and there were still remnants left, things that held little interest for anyone, and it was these items that she was cataloging in the inventory before closing the shop for good. Belle was surprised to see how tall the boy had grown, and it was evident that he'd gotten his stature from Emma's side of the family. Even so, he still bore a remarkable resemblance to his other grandfather, and Rumpel's eyes, so expressive and intelligent, looked down on her from his grandson's face.

"Hey, Belle," he said, and she had to smile a little at the deep timbre of his voice.

"Good afternoon, Henry."

He stood in the center of the room, shifting from one foot to the other as he worked out what he wanted to say and she waited patiently for him. After a few moments, he said, "You know, my grandpa still loves you."

She was stunned. "Well, yes, I'm sure…what…why are you telling me this?"

He pulled his arm out of the strap of his backpack, shifting it forward as he approached the counter and laid it on the glass countertop. He dug around in it for a moment before pulling out the familiar leather-bound book of fairy tales he'd been carrying around since he was ten years old. "It's in here," he explained, flipping pages until he came to a beautiful illustration depicting the scene in her father's old war room of her promising the Dark One she'd go with him to save her people.

If she'd have been struck by lightening she couldn't have felt more pain than she did in that moment. Leaning on the counter to keep from collapsing, she stared miserably at the impish features that she loved as much as the smooth face of the man she had married and she ached for him. "Henry…"

"Look, Belle," he interrupted, "I know that everyone has this great plan to go back to the Enchanted Forest, and I want to go there more than anyone, but you two belong together."

Slowly, she turned the pages, seeing their lives together rendered in watercolors and pretty words; moments of time illustrated in the book that had both chronicled and guided the inhabitants of their realm since the boy had opened its pages. She gasped as the scenes shifted from their old world to the Land Without Magic, the magic of the book now depicting their reunion by the well when she remembered who she was, and who he was to her; their mishaps at trying to be together here; Rumpel's sacrifice to save them from Pan; his rescue from death by her and Bae; their simple and perfect wedding and, finally, the horrors that had lead up to their final moments together. Henry stood quietly nearby as she leafed through the book, her hands tracing the lines of her husband's face in each illustration, her lips repeating soundlessly the words she'd spoken as a princess, as a maid, as a bride. _I'll go with you forever…I'll never stop fighting for him…the man beneath the monster may be flawed, but we all are, and I love you._

"Oh, Henry," she whispered, her cerulean eyes fixed bleakly on his eyes, so very much like her beloveds, "He's gone; he's gone and I'm supposed to get everyone home. What am I going to do?"

The boy shrugged apologetically and offered her a crooked grin. "I honestly don't know," he answered, "but you need to see this." He pulled the book to himself and began thumbing through it until he reached the last page. Pushing it back to her, he waited.

The illustration was of the _kris_ dagger, surrounded by complete darkness, its surface smooth and nameless, and the caption beneath it read, "_and they lived happily ever after_."

Looking up to the young man, she asked, "what does it mean?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but I think you'll figure it out." He suddenly reached over and drew her into a hug, neither awkward nor shy, and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. Rather stunned, she watched as he slung his backpack onto his shoulder and took a step back. "Keep the book as a gift; I don't think I'll be needing it any more." He turned and strode to the front door, the bell jingling as he opened it. Grinning, he looked back and said, "goodbye, Belle."

And he was gone.

~*~*~*xXx*~*~*~

The snow storm began that night. Belle had struggled through the white flurries, making it home late in the evening. For the next three days she'd kept to herself, reading Henry's book from cover to cover, the final illustration drawing her attention as she contemplated what dark place the wretched dagger could go that would free her husband from his curse.

Her father had called a few times, checking on her, reminding her that she needed to be at the mayors' office in three days to end the curse and take them all home. "I remember," she'd assured him. She'd finally come to terms with what she had to do, and she resolutely set about making preparations for her final moments in the cursed little town she'd called home.

She gathered what she wanted to take with her on her journey, the things she absolutely refused to part with no matter what her fate was afterward; things that would always remind her of her love, and things that Rumpel had not been able to come back for that would be lost and forgotten in their land: photos of their life together, the drawing of Bae as a child and his shawl that had led his father to him, and the chipped cup. All would be in her safekeeping.

She ran her last minute errands, ate one quick meal in the kitchen and cleaned up the dishes. The night was cold, and she'd dressed warmly in a dark blue ski parka. Her bags were packed and waiting in the car outside, and the clock was ticking down to the final hours until the little town her husband's clever mind had created would transfer back to its origins. Knowing that her time here was coming to an end, she made a pot of tea and set two cups down on the kitchen table and waited.

"Hello, Belle," he said with a grin. "You've been expecting me."

She nodded in consent. "Hello, Bae." Gesturing to the chair across from her, she invited him to sit down and poured them both a cup of hot, fragrant tea.

"Coffee would have been nice," he admonished lightly.

"Sorry," she shrugged, "next time I'll be better prepared."

"There won't be a next time," he countered. "You know that."

"Yes," she conceded. She watched as he brought the cup to his lips and swallowed the hot tea with a satisfied sigh. "You've seen him?"

"I have."

"How is he?"

Bae grinned and took another sip before he answered, "He's well, but lonely."

Belle sighed in relief, covering her face with trembling hands as he acknowledged her love was alright. After collecting herself with a few shaky breaths, she asked, "Where is he?"

The ghost had drained his cup and he set it down so he could give her his full attention. "In the cabin he owns about five miles out from the town line. Do you know it?"

She nodded her head. Rumpel had told her about it, and had planned to make it their first stopover after crossing the town line. The road to it was clearly marked, and it wasn't too far off of the roadway, so it would be easy to find. She was lost in her thoughts when Bae interrupted.

"You have something for me, don't you?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Belle rose from the table and reached for the shoebox she'd placed on top of the refrigerator earlier. Handing it over to her stepson, she watched as he pulled off the lid and retrieved the _kris_ dagger from inside. It gleamed in the bright light of the kitchen, the black letters of her husbands name obscenely readable in contrast.

"It's really quite beautiful when you look at it in the light," Bae observed.

"You're taking it with you, then?" she asked.

He nodded in answer. "Once Storybrooke is returned to our land, it will be buried with me forever, and Papa will finally be free of it."

Belle wiped tears from her eyes as she took one last look at her loves' son. He'd been a hero in life, sacrificing himself to save those he loved, and now he'd fought death for one last chance to save his father from himself. It was only right that she follow that example now. Time was running out, so she drew him into a final hug. "Thank you," she said. Then, without looking back, she walked away from him, and out of the home she'd shared with her husband and occupied in his exile to the car waiting to take her to the fate she'd chosen for herself.

~*~*~*xXx*~*~*~

The snow was knee deep, so she'd had to leave the Bug that Emma had given her parked on the side of the road and walk a couple of miles to the front door. She didn't mind though, as the walk gave her time to process the course she'd taken. Her father had argued when she told him that it would be him to make the sacrifice needed to lift the curse. After all, she'd reminded him, he'd already made that sacrifice in their old world when Rumpelstiltskin had claimed her as the price to save their people. Her vow of forever remained, and she was simply fulfilling the promise she'd made long ago.

It was difficult to get her bearings in the dark woods, but a golden light from a single window had guided her to the lonely structure from quite a distance. Snow had been falling, and much had melted in her hair and on her clothing, so that she was near freezing by the time she knocked on the door of the cabin. Her heart seemed to stop when Rumpel finally opened it, looking at her like a man who'd been haunted by the ghosts of his past and had no expectations of seeing her on his stoop in the middle of the night. He stood staring at her, his mouth open in surprise or shock, while the snow continued to flutter over her.

"May I come in?" she asked uncertainly, offering a hopeful smile.

"Of course," he answered. She knew he must be angry, hurt by her rejection. Perhaps he didn't want to see her at all, but he'd never leave her out in the cold.

She stomped her feet on the step, shaking off the snow clinging to her boots before entering the warm cabin. It was a cozy place, small and efficient, a place where two people could begin again if they wanted to.

Rumpel didn't speak to her, other than to direct her to the hearth where a blazing fire offered heat. He helped her off with her parka, and then knelt down to pull her dripping boots off. He settled her in his armchair and then left her for a few minutes, returning with a fluffy, white towel that smelled faintly of bleach and their favorite laundry soap. She accepted it gratefully, her fingers brushing against his as she took it from him, the contact sending a new tide of shivers up her spine.

She bent over, letting her hair hang down from the crown of her head, and began drying it with the towel. Rumpel hunkered down near her feet, watching her intently as she rubbed the towel against her hair. He looked like he was afraid she'd vanish in front of him, and his anxiety spurred a hope in her that he was pleased that she was here, and that he wouldn't turn her away as soon as the morning light came.

Belle dropped the towel onto the floor next to the chair, and then slid forward, down onto the floor next to her husband. It had been months since she's seen him, and she noticed he'd lost a bit of weight and that his face seemed more lined than it had before. She caressed his cheek with her hand, the slight stubble she found there sending a pleasurable shiver through her body. He suddenly reached out and drew her to him, his arms around her shoulders, and she felt him relax against her as their bodies settled into a familiar embrace.

"I've missed you so much," she murmured, her forehead resting against his cheek. "I shouldn't' have…I didn't –"

"Don't," he cut her off gently, his voice breaking as he closed his eyes, shifting his weight so he could wrap himself completely around her. "Don't say anything. It's alright."

She realized that she was crying, her tears silently coursing down her cheeks. She'd cried for herself so many times these last few months, but these tears were for him. There were so many things she needed to tell him, so many things they needed to say to one another, but she was sure that they had time for that now. He was free of his curse, and she was free to help him find the man who'd been buried beneath the monster for so very long. He'd always called her the flicker of light in his ocean of darkness, but without him, she had no reason to shine.


End file.
